


Alexander Hamilton: Human Scandal

by firstbreaths



Series: and honestly that's why public service seems to be calling me [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 08:03:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5960011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstbreaths/pseuds/firstbreaths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton has a crush on the hot guy filmed saving turtles from a flood. Said hot guy turns out to be John Laurens, Director of the National Parks Service, and he's coming in for a meeting. Scandal ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alexander Hamilton: Human Scandal

The weirdest rumour of Alexander Hamilton’s admittedly salacious public life starts with a flood in South Carolina, of all things.

Well, more accurately, it starts with Alexander in his office at 6am, pacing irritably between the window and his desk and back, as he waits for the sports coverage on NBC to end so he can just _see what the stock markets are doing already, damnit._ Dimly, in the back of his mind, he registers that there’s probably a beleaguered intern somewhere who could get him this information in a second, but instead he uses the opportunity to take a deep breath, let it roll from his shoulders to his toes curled in his socks, and listens half-heartedly to the reporter talk about football.

Eventually, they move on to the financial analyst’s report, and _thank fuck_ , he’d been worried about a thing in Japan overnight, but it looks like the markets will open relatively stable. From his perch on the edge of his desk, Alexander reaches behind him, grappling for the remote just out of his reach, when –

They’ve moved on to the special interest section, and Alexander usually can’t think of anything more mind-numbingly boring to watch – once, in college, he wrote a 20-page article for the student paper on how commercial news was sapping the populace of its will to think and distracting them from dealing with real shit, and even _he_ had realised that, ironically, it wasn’t his best work.

However -

On screen, they’re showing grainy footage of a man, a little out of focus, hovering nervously at the edge of a raging river, the muddy water swirling around his feet. After a second or two, the footage – clearly taken on an iPhone – comes into focus, and Alexander’s jaw drops involuntarily. The man is about his age and shirtless, the broad planes of his shoulders angling down towards a soft belly, droplets of water clinging to his arms and chest. His curls, long enough to rival Alexander’s, settle about his shoulders, framing his gorgeous face. Somewhere off-screen, there’s a shout, and then the man leans forward – Alexander sucks in a breath he didn’t know he was holding – and before he can process any of this, there’s a fucking turtle clinging to his chest.

The footage switches then, to a newsreader whose name Alexander pays no attention to, and then to a split screen, and – there’s the boy, wearing a shirt this time and smiling widely as he thanks them for the honour of being on their show. _Jack Laurens,_ apparently, of South Carolina, who’s been caught on camera valiantly saving an endangered turtle species from a flood earlier this week. (Maybe Alexander should have watched the weather report instead, since there’s likely to be a brief on his desk by noon about funding disaster assistance).

“I was just doing my job,” he says, that _damn_ smile still lighting up his face.

“And speaking of your job –“

Alexander leans back further against his desk, his outstretched palm coming into contact with the remote, and _fuck_ , he’s accidentally hit mute, just as the reporter starts to explain why this is such a big deal. Whatever. He’s an important man with shit to do, a country to avoid bankrupting, he does not have _time_ to obsess over someone who saved a couple of turtles. Even endangered ones.

Because, here’s the thing: Alexander is the country’s most esteemed economist (however self-declared; he’s not allowed to engage with the Reserve Bank anymore on Twitter after an unfortunate incident where he claimed that, under its current leadership, the institution was about as relevant to modern economic progress as the penny). But, even so, he’s not sure he could personally count every one of the boy’s gorgeous freckles.  

*****

**To:** lafayette@diplomatie.gouv.fr **  
From:** a.hamilton@treasury.gov

So… I have boy troubles. One boy in particular – although, boy sounds _weird,_ since I’ve seen him with his shirt off. Kind of. It’s a long story, a fact which I know will not surprise you at all. However, I will mercifully keep the details until I see you, since I’m currently in the middle of drafting a speech to the International Money Fund on multinational tax avoidance, and I need more caffeine to multitask, but it feels a little hypocritical to go downstairs to Starbucks for a venti mocha right now. How is it that these companies _dare_ siphon millions of dollars in profits offshore, but raising the minimum wage by 20c an hour is going to bankrupt them? Is this what those before us fought for?

(Also last time Angelica caught me composing an ode to someone, she told Washington the tomcat had its claws clipped, and I’m pretty sure Martha purred at me, so).

However, this boy has very nice shoulders, so it’s potentially worth it.

Yrs,

Alexander

 **To:** a.hamilton@treasury.gov  
**From:** lafayette@diplomatie.gouv.fr  


_Mon ami_ ,

If the Treasury of the Secretary cannot get a man, then what hope do the rest of us have? Especially since, as you Americans say, you are almost literally rolling in the dough. Or you could be, were it not for that unfortunate incident with your own Department, who did not see why including a woman on our bills could be so important.

I will be done with the US Trade Representative at 7, then perhaps I can come over, help to soothe your pain?

Love,

M

 **To:** lafayette@diplomatie.gouv.fr  
**From:** a.hamilton@treasury.gov

What would we do without each other, Laf? (Don’t answer that, it involves a terrifying post apocalyptic scenario in which Charles Lee is President).

And if you also want to bring something else to soothe the pain, I can let you in on a secret. Your best bet’s the corner store up from Whole Foods – fuck your French sensibilities, if it costs between $5 and $50 I really can’t tell the difference?

(PS. The Trade Rep is typically agreeable to proposals that emphasise benefits to American industry, as well to increasing quantities of French liqueur).    

You da best,

Alex  

*****

An hour and a half later, Alexander’s finally settled into his work, even taking a few moments to appreciate the sun rising over the Treasury building, streaming through his top floor window and splintering off the whiskey glasses lined up on the drawing board. He would say he appreciates the early morning solitude but his brain whirrs so loudly with ideas that it’s difficult to get them down on paper. He’s giving a speech at a gala celebrating Washington’s first 100 days in office next week, and he’s aiming for something that’s conciliatory towards those who said Washington couldn’t do it… at which point he’ll knock them down with a smile.

 _As your Treasury Secretary, I know there can be no change without a common sense approach,_ he writes, and seriously, his witticisms are wasted on the public service.

Also, his emails have suddenly gone down, and he _really_ needs to read the notes sent through from Jay down in Legal about the constitutionality of Washington’s tax plan; he’s sure it’s sound, having edited 24 drafts before he was satisfied enough to let anyone else read it, but he’s always being reminded to appear consultative.

At the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway, Alexander stands up, raising his arms in a long-overdue stretch.

“You’ve got Senior Staff at 8:00, an IRS phone hook-up at 8:15, and a meeting with Interior at 11:00–” Peggy says as she walks in, not even bothering to knock. She’s already tapping out an email to the IT department from her iPhone, having gotten Alexander’s 17 furious texts about his own email access.

“You can’t seriously expect me to meet with _Interior_ ,” Alexander groans, flopping back into his chair, toes pointed upward at the sky. Peggy looks over at him, and he straightens his back, untangles the end of his ponytail caught between him and his chair, crosses his arms and _pouts_. It’s not that he necessarily has anything against the fine civil servants at the Department of Interior, it’s just that he kind of does. After reading some of the briefs about the impact of import tariffs on managing illegal trout fishing that have previously come across his desk, Alexander had to deal with the unsettling feeling of losing respect for _Leslie Knope_ , because who would want to work at a Department like _that._

“You _have_ to take this meeting, Alex,” Peggy says, interrupting his thoughts. “Last time you chose to ignore them, you almost started a fire that no-one could put out – literally.”

“How was I supposed to know that when the Secretary of the Interior wanted to talk about funding for wildfire management at a Cabinet meeting they _weren’t_ referring to dousing Jefferson with a hose?” Alexander pauses, scratching the nape of his neck in mock contemplation. “Actually, I probably should have gone along with that one.”

“Whatever,” Peggy replies with a wave of her hand, signalling that the conversation is over. “And don’t forget to take time at some point to eat.”

As she leaves, Alexander lets his head fall to his keyboard with a thump. Why isn’t this day over, already?

*****

By the time his meeting with Interior rolls around, Alexander’s feeling reasonably accomplished, as much as he can while he runs a Department that could literally make or break the international financial system.

He’ll never tell anyone this, but every morning on his way into work, he stops, looks up at the Department’s insignia, hanging above the archway, and thanks his lucky stars that Washington gave him this chance. He might have finished a PhD in economics while working full time at the United Nations and helping manage Washington’s campaign, _and_ graduated six months early, the week before the election, just in case this opportunity arose, but Alexander _still_ can’t believe he’s here. He probably never will.  

Alexander barely glances up as Peggy ushers someone into the room, until she coughs loudly and he jumps to his feet, hastily shuffling his pile of papers to one side of his desk. He quickly wipes his hands across the front of his suit pants, steps out from behind his desk, and prepares to greet whatever idiot they’ve sent from Interior to hassle him this time. Once he glances to the left of Peggy, however, and spots who’s standing there, he’s forced to disguise his shock with a cough.  

Well then.

Jack Laurens is larger in person, although that may be in part due to the fact that he no longer has a giant turtle clinging to his chest. He’s pulled his hair into a loose ponytail at the base of his neck, and his suit is well-tailored, clinging to the shoulders that, if Alexander closed his eyes, he could easily conjure in his mind again.  He also turns out to be the recently appointed Director of the National Park Service.

Hyper-aware of just how weird this situation is - for him, at least, Jack Laurens is smiling pleasantly and accepting the glass of water Peggy offers him as she leaves – Alexander doesn't say anything about the fact that he recognises Laurens from TV. Instead he motions for the man to sit down opposite him, and returns to his own chair.

“Mr Secretary, it’s a pleasure. My Department suggests that I should expect a, ah, _fiery_ debate, which I’m honestly looking forward to. As a public servant, sometimes I find there isn’t quite enough conflict.” He smiles wider now, soft and genuine, and Alexander finds himself returning the smile easily.

“Please, call me Alexander,” he says, quickly wiping his hand on his slacks before offering it to the man in front of him. “The only person who refers to me as Treasury Secretary to my face is the White House Press Secretary.” He pauses for dramatic emphasis. “I call her ‘Angie’, so we’re about even.”

“John,” the man replies, returning the handshake easily. “Everyone I work with calls me Director, except the wolves.”

To be honest, Alexander’s not entirely sure what he does either, and he’s spent the last two minutes hurriedly trawling through the Department of the Interior’s website on his iPhone, looking for a clue. Or an excuse to get out of this meeting, some sort of proof that this is _not his jurisdiction_ , although it seems that particular course of action has become quickly redundant.

Before he can stop himself, he says, “I thought your name was Jack.”

John – _Jack?_ – looks up at him bewilderedly through his eyelashes, and Alexander pinches himself under the desk. If John wants conflict, Alexander’s already losing.

He’s also a terrible liar, particularly under pressure, so he says, “I, ah, spotted you on breakfast television this morning. Not that I knew it was you, then, although I suppose they covered the bit where you play an important role in wildlife management _after_ I accidentally muted you. And they called you Jack Laurens.”

To his surprise, John laughs deeply, even as his cheeks colour with a slight blush, accentuating his freckles. “Be glad you missed it. They pulled the whole ‘civil servant returned to its natural habitat’ jibe, complete with a terrible David Attenborough voiceover. I’m pretty sure my family down in South Carolina are going to be making fun of me for weeks, once they get over their nephew being shirtless on TV.” He says this last bit in an overwrought Southern accent, mouth wide with fake surprise, and Alexander laughs along with him, fingers clutching at the edge of his desk.

“So Jack -?”

“It’s a family nickname, I only really use it when I’m in South Carolina; everywhere else, I’m John,” comes the reply, and there’s an air of finality about it that Alexander doesn’t allow himself to question for more than a second. After all, he hates people prying into his own personal background, not least because Fox News alternates between running stories about how a bastard is running the country, and claiming that he’s secretly Washington’s son.

“Well, John,” he says, after a moment’s pause, “I suppose we should discuss national parks funding in the upcoming budget. I’d hate for you to go back to your Department without a war story to tell.”

“You do have quite the reputation,” John agrees, although his tone is amicable, and Alex hi-fives himself mentally. At least his 10-page brief on why the fisheries issue was a complete waste of his time hadn’t been completely for naught.  

“So I suppose you’re here to argue for why Interior should get a lion’s share of the funding then?”

“Well yes,” John replies, but his smile fades, twisting into more of a smirk as he pushes his glass of water to the edge of the table and leans over, reaching into his messenger bag and procuring a map. He spreads it across Alexander’s desk, revealing a series of post-it notes in various colours as it unfurls. “But since your reputation proceeds you, I know you’ll be writing Washington a Pulitzer Prize winning novel about each Department’s funding proposals before the next Cabinet meeting, so I wanted to give you some inspiration.”

For the next fifteen minutes, he proceeds to talk Alexander through his Department’s plans, a series of ecotourism resorts in key national parks, funded initially through a combination of state and federal funds but later generating sizable amounts of revenue which can be reinvested in conservation efforts, opportunities for county governments to get involved in conservation projects; there’s even a picture of several teenagers with a wolf cub, as part of a proposed conservation strategy that will provide traineeships for American Indian teens to become park rangers. Alexander interrupts occasionally to ask questions – mostly technocratic in nature, and all of which John easily answers – but most of the time, he’s content to listen. Even if John wasn’t so gorgeous, his proposal is well thought-out and well-argued; often, he seems to answer Alexander’s questions even as they’re half-formed, and his attention to detail rivals Alexander’s own. Although, no matter _how_ hot this guy is, Alexander doubts he wrote this plan on the back of several napkins at a Chinese restaurant after a particularly average date, which is how Alexander himself devised the closing arguments for his first case as a United Nations’ trade lawyer.

Either way, he’s hooked.

Which is probably why, as John folds up the maps and stows them back in his messenger bag, and then looks up at Alexander with an expression that’s equal parts assured and shy, like he knows exactly _how_ thorough his plan is but is still interested in the Treasury Secretary’s opinion, Alexander asks, “would you like to continue this conversation over lunch?”

*****

Alex (11:42): wanna hear a story?

Alex (11:42): i’ve been over it enough times in my own head that it’s distilled enough for a few texts, i promise

Alex (11:42): I think

Eliza (11:46): i just dissuaded two 4yo kids from eating each other’s snot. any grown up story is a good story

Alex (11:47): so it starts, like all good stories, with a debate about funding for national parks

Alex (11:47): with a guy who actually knows his shit (and looks amazing in a suit shhhhhh)

Alex (10:48): who knew that talking about turtle breeding habits could be so interesting

Alex (11:48): anyway, point is,

Alex (11:48): i asked him out for lunch

Alex (11:48): purely professionally, of course

Eliza (11:51): of course ;)

Eliza (11:52): for an honourary professor at princeton AND columbia your story-telling skills could use some work

Eliza (11:53): it’s lacking in puns about breeding habits (how DO turtles breed anyway?)

Alex (11:56): can’t you just be happy for me?

Alex (11:58): ps laf’s coming over tonight with wine. so if you have lesson plans to ignore or whatever, we’re your men

Eliza (11:59): best roommate ever <3

*****

Before he can head downstairs to meet John, he rounds on Peggy, who doesn’t even look up from eating her own lunch.

“You didn’t think to tell me that the Director of National Parks from the Department of the Interior just so happens to be the same guy who was on TV this morning saving turtles without a shirt on,” Alex shouts, not even bothering to keep it down as several civil servants snap their heads up to look at him. They’ve seen him shout a lot more about a lot less.

“You didn’t ask,” she replies, so innocent and sweet, and well -

She’s right, of course, but if he had to spell out every question to his team, he’d be getting even less than four hours sleep a night.

“If I’d known he was going to convince the indefatigable Alexander Hamilton to actually eat lunch for a change, I’d have set you guys up a lot sooner,” Peggy calls after him, as he turns around and marches out the door.

For once, Alexander doesn’t stop long enough to offer a witty retort.

*****

An hour later, Alexander’s lunch sits half-forgotten on the table in front of him as he and John talk like they’ve known each other half their lives. He’d expected the Director of the National Parks Service, from the Department of the goddamn fucking Interior to be as boring as fuck. As empty, cold, and full of horse shit as the majority of the plains over which his Department presides. So it stuns Alexander even now that conversation is so easy between them. John, it turns out, completed a semester of law at Duke and then dropped out to become a park ranger, before working his way up into the upper echelons of his Department.

“I was a rebel,” he says, with a not-quite apologetic shrug. “And I really love animals.”

Alexander snorts before he can stop himself, issuing a silent apology to Leslie Knope. At least the Department of Interior can still claim one inspiring civil servant.

In return, he sketches a quick picture of his own professional history, even though the majority of it is well-recorded by a combination of gossip columnists and the pesky Treasury Communications Director, who constantly picks fights with White House Press Secretary Angelica Schuyler about how to manage Alexander’s Twitter use. For the record: Alexander has no interest in being relatable to the ‘youth’, and he’ll read the Department’s social media policy when Thomas Jefferson actually reads something of history _and_ cautiously incorporates it into his work. Still, he concedes – a converted internship with then senior Virginian Congressman George Washington, early graduation from Georgetown law, including a viral valedictorian speech on Youtube in which he’d articulated his grand vision of America in the forthcoming Asian century, and his quick ascendancy through the ranks of the United Nations legal team before becoming the country’s youngest Treasury Secretary all seem quite impressive when viewed from beyond the haze of coffee fumes that typically surround Alexander.

John, for his part, though, reacts to this story with a simple reply: “It’s funny, when I joined the Parks Service all I wanted was to escape one life for another. I had grand ideas, and yet somehow it’s turned out even better than I hoped.”

“That’s incredibly philosophical for someone who spends most of their time caught up in funding debates and reading briefs about animal scat,” Alexander says. “Although I’m sure that the animals appreciate your persistence, which in the end, should be reward enough for your efforts.”

Animal rights has long been Eliza’s thing, more so than his, but he supposes they’re not all that different at the end of the day; both driven by an unabiding sense of justice for those less fortunate. Public service is a thankless task, Alexander has found, and he itches sometimes to tell the American people that their most important protections come, quite often, from the people who least command the spotlight, but to ruin the charade might be to give up the sense of mystery surrounding the office that allows him to do his best work. He’s also the Treasury Secretary who seems to have commanded the most public attention – through limited fault of his own, Alexander continues to contend – so it might be somewhat of a moot point.

He drags his eyes back up to meet John’s.

“Well, I’ve heard you’re quite the ‘little lion’,” John replies, “Although now that I’ve actually had a conversation with you, I’d dispute the ‘little’ part of it.”

And, just as Alexander begins to process that:

“You know that was a joke, right?” John clamps a hand over his mouth, and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like _fuck_. “Oh god, I just hit on the Secretary of the Treasury. I-”

Alexander hears the slight scrape of his chair leg even before John moves to stand up, and he reaches out, curls his fingers around John’s wrist, and pulls his hand down to rest on the table between them. John’s hands are surprisingly soft for someone who just two days ago was caught on film hacking through thick scrub on the banks of the Cooper River to save an endangered species of turtle, in a scene that Alexander imagines in his mind to be just a little action-hero like.  

It’s a good minute before either of them lets go of the other.

“You’ll be glad to know that, as Secretary of the Treasury, my powers don’t extend to accessing the nuclear codes, so unfortunately your embarrassment will have to be punishment enough.” Alexander says this with a smile, fingers crossed under the table that John _knows_ he’s joking. “Although, that’s probably got more to do with Jefferson telling the entire damned State Department that my ego’s as large and fiscally ruinous as Zimbabwean hyperinflation.”

John doesn’t even flinch. Although, Alexander supposes, his ‘difficult working relationship’ with Jefferson is well publicised these days. Deep down, he respects Washington for seeking out a diverse range of opinions, rather than falling back on the status quo, but man, sometimes it’s _tough_ listening to Jefferson prattle on in French. If you’re going to show your complete and utter disrespect for the majority of the Cabinet, at least be condescending in a language like Latin. Besides, that hardly seems like the biggest issue on the table at this second.

“I really was referring to the fact that you somehow manage to talk _more_ than the stories I’ve heard suggest,” John says. He’s still blushing, the reddish tinge of his cheeks accentuating his freckles, as he speaks, and the fact that Alexander finds it adorable is _not_ going to help with this mess. “I’ve probably learnt more about international macroeconomics in the last half hour than I could learn from an entire degree. So, you know, you’ve got a loud roar, or something like that.”

“Something like that,” Alexander agrees, with a faint smile; he’s so used to being told to talk less, to trim his sentences and prune his paragraphs, but the way John describes his verbosity, it sounds almost like an endearing trait of his.

That being said, he cannot afford to fall any deeper down this particular rabbit hole, even if he’s starting to suspect that a particular employee of the National Parks Service might be keen to prosecute the case, so he says, a little hurriedly, “did you hear about that thing that happened in the football this morning?”

There’s an awkward pause, in which Alexander remembers that _right_ , he doesn’t actually remember a thing about what happened in the football this morning, nor does he actually care about football at all. And then John makes a waspish point about football players’ toxic perceptions of masculinity – he, at least, had paid attention to the news – and everything, again, feels right.

*****

As is want to happen in Alexander’s life, just as things are going well, three things happen, incredibly quickly:

1\. Charles Lee, Republican scoundrel (privately, Alexander calls him much worse, trusting Eliza to keep his most passionate rants a secret) strolls into the restaurant with another Congressman whose name Alexander can’t quite remember. Snapping his fingers at a waiter, he spots Alexander and John with a grin, one lazy eye taking in Alexander’s slack-jawed grin, the fact that he and John are sitting a little closer to each other than a simple business lunch might suggest, their knees almost touching under the table, and proceeds to stage-whisper to his colleague, “do you think Yellowstone will blow before _or_ after Secretary Hamilton gets his dick sucked for funding?” 

Alexander has a single moment to wonder how Charles Lee had recognised the Director of the National Parks Service when, originally, he himself hadn’t, and then -

2\. Both Alexander and John take one look at each other, nod, and then lob their half-finished wine glasses at Lee, John slamming his glass down on the table with a look of pure unadulterated joy that quickly turns to horror. Vaguely, in the part of his brain that’s not flattered and concerned and a little turned on all at once, Alexander can hear an iPhone camera click.

After spending several seconds swaying on the spot as the realisation of what he’s done crests over him, Alexander drags John out of the restaurant, pushes him into the first available cab and jumps into the second. As the cab driver pulls out into traffic, he wishes he’d said goodbye to John, and then proceeds to prays like hell that none of this makes it back to Washington.

*****

**CNN Breaking News:** Treasury Secretary Hamilton caught soliciting sexual favours from prominent public servants

 **Buzzfeed:** Treasury Sec Ham pork-barrels civil servants with sexual favours #bringinghomethebacon

 **ABC News Online:** Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton, known equally for his cutting insults and his revolutionary tax plan, due to be voted on by the House of Representatives this week, has today been accused of trading sexual favours for budgetary measures and insider-knowledge. It’s a move insiders say is likely to shake even the unmovable President Washington. In two separate but perhaps related incidents, Secretary Hamilton, whose meteoric rise to political fame includes being the first bisexual head of the Treasury, has been accused of leaking information about US Trade Representative James Monroe’s alcoholism to the French Ambassador to the United States, Marquis de Lafayette, in exchange for ‘soothing [his] pain’. Until now, Monroe’s drinking habit had, in fact, been the capital’s worst kept secret. In yet another embarrassing incident, senior Republicans are also accusing Secretary Hamilton of engaging in a sexual relationship with John Laurens, Director of the National Parks Service, who went on record earlier this week as stating that he was ‘looking forward’ to upcoming budget talks as the service struggles to deal with the challenges of a historic drought and declining tourist numbers.

Responding to the news this afternoon, Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson simply said, “far be it for me to stop Hamilton pursuing his own happiness, so long as he ruins only his own ambitions and doesn’t bring the government down with it.” However, following this reporter’s interview with Secretary Jefferson, whose political squabbles with Hamilton are common knowledge thanks to their frequent disputes on social media, Congressman James Madison (Republican, VI-4) was seen heading for Secretary Jefferson’s private office with a paper bag full of wine coolers.

*****

Alexander comes back from lunch, his untucked shirt tails curling as the fabric dries from where he’d been splashed, it’s to find Angelica Schuyler in his chair, back to the door. Alexander spots her perfect bun first – how does she get it that high? – and immediately spins on his heel to leave. He can work out of the bullpens, surely it’s good for the Secretary of the Treasury to be in touch with his staff, but before he can make it out the door, her hand is on his wrist.

Well, fuck.

He breathes sharply through his nose. “If this is about the incident at lunch, I promise no one got hurt, and I called up and paid for the damaged tablecloth with my own credit card.”  


“This is about the fact that your emails are suspended because you sent a _suggestive_ message to the French Ambassador about procuring goods at a cheaper price in exchange for sexual favours, like we hadn’t just cleaned up all that mess with the British.” Angelica says this like Alexander had personally been the one to protest the Prime Minister’s most recent visit to Washington DC – he’d just vociferously supported the protesters on Twitter. And given one or two of them a lift to the protest site in his car on his way to work.

“I just told Lafayette the cheapest place to get wine this side of the city,” Alexander replies. “Facilitating the free market, as it were.” Vaguely, he massages his temple, wondering where this is going. “Unlike every other poser in this city, I own up to the fact that _pinot noir_ is just a fancy French word for ‘tastes like bad decisions’."   

Angelica’s stare is still piercing, but it’s now aimed at his feet as she too rubs at the back of her neck, so he continues. “Besides, you know what I meant by favours, Laf gives the best hugs.”

They’d all gone to college together: Angelica, who Alexander thinks could wield a pen almost as well as him if she hadn’t chosen to go into _public relations_ , of all wretched professions; Lafayette, who had studied history and economics and philosophy and now spends most of his time sucking up to rich French investors; and him, the upstart immigrant who’d gone into law because at the time he’d believed in liberty and _justice_ , at least until he’d met John Laurens and his stupid sense of honour and his stupid, sinful eyelashes.

Angelica seems to be thinking the same thing (about Lafayette’s hugs, not about John, he desperately, desperately hopes), because her smile softens, even as she says, “this is the problem, Alex. You’re not supposed to have enemies on the Hill. Even if you do manage to regularly turn the smallest Congressional losses into Everest.”

“I’ll leave making enemies to the experts, next time,” he says contritely, because Madison and Jefferson and everyone else be damned, he does _not_ want to make an enemy of Angelica.

Except –

“Speaking of enemies,” Angelica says, pulling out her phone, which Alexander can see from his perch against the doorframe has blown up with Twitter notifications and calls from the White House Chief of Staff, McTighe (or, as Alexander calls him when he’s being particularly circumspect about Washington’s intentions, Mc Tight Ass). Alexander can already tell this is not going to end well.

“What’s this about a lunch?” She skims through a few notifications with a perfectly manicured finger. “And why does anyone know who the Director of the National Parks Service is anyway?”

“Turns out he’s hot,” Alexander says sagely, before ducking to avoid the full force of her glare, which she’s perfected in all its pointy glory; it’s like an archer pulling back an arrow, and he’s a sitting duck simply anticipating the _twang._  

“Well,” Angelica says, “I am going to go and tell President Washington that the only reason he shouldn’t fire your ass is because you’re the only person who understands his damn tax plan, and you are going to write one of your infamous lists, entitled ‘reasons why I am an ass who owes Angelica Schuyler dinner and a complimentary voucher for a massage’.”

“I’ll just ask Lafayette, he gives the best –“ and it’s probably a sign of the times that not a single head pokes out of their office as he ducks the book that Angelica lobs at him and it bounces off the edge of the doorframe and out into the hallway with a loud thud.

*****

Eliza (13:43): do teachers count as public servants in this case?

Eliza (13:43): because i should probably warn you before you proposition me in the kitchen that herc asked me on a date this weekend

Alexander (13:47): you’re dating my building’s security guard

Alexander (13:47): at least you guys will have fun trading all of your worst secrets about me

Alexander (13:48): wait, please don’t do that

Eliza (13:50): it’s a first date alex, play it cool

Alexander (13:53) well just don’t break his heart, i need his fashion advice and his inside knowledge of exactly what the fuck everyone in our building is up to

*****

After his ‘meeting’ with Angelica, Alexander slumps at his desk and tries to get some work done, a mean feat considering that the dull throbbing behind his temple has turned into a roar, and he’s regretting everything from the last few lines of the IMF speech through to his behaviour at the restaurant _and_ the fact that he never actually got John Laurens’ number.

He’s the Treasury Secretary, he doubts it would be that hard to call the National Parks Service and ask around, but given the situation, he decides it’s probably best to follow Angelica’s advice and not leave any more fingerprints at the alleged crime scene, for a change.

Either way, Alexander finally gets into a rhythm, reading and signing the large pile of briefs that miraculously appeared on his desk during lunch, and jotting down some notes about for an article that he’s working on with one of his colleagues at Georgetown about changing perceptions of fiscal responsibility and the role of the US government. He also sends Peggy to get him the largest coffee possible, hypocrisy be damned, and he’s just chugging down the last of it, when there’s a knock at the door.

Lafayette’s face peers around the half-open door as he calls, “how’s my favourite scandal-ridden economist going? Come here, _mon cheri_.” Alexander drops his pen to the desk, jumps to his feet a little woozily – maybe coffee wasn’t the best idea following on from a thumping headache – and flings himself into Lafayette’s arms. They stand there for a minute, Alexander’s head resting against Lafayette’s chest as he lazily twists one of Lafayette’s curls around his finger, until Alexander feels a warmth he remembers as complete and utter content – god, they really need to hang out more.

Just as he’s about to voice this to Lafayette, however, there’s a sharp cough from out in the hall, and Alexander lifts his head from Lafayette’s chest and peers around him, frowning at the man standing there, somehow looking both like he’s sucking on a lemon and like there’s no place he’d rather be.

Hamilton clutches at the door handle with a barely disguised grimace.

“Of all the government lawyers, they had to get goddamn Burr in,” he groans.

*****

White House Press Room

3 February 2016, 3pm

Daily Press Briefing

SCHUYLER: Before I discuss the President’s landmark education Bill, which was passed into law today, guaranteeing millions of dollars for teacher recruitment and training, I’m pleased to announce that today’s incidents involving Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton have been resolved. Following consultation with White House Counsel, Secretary Hamilton has been cleared of all wrongdoing, and reminded to use his own personal email account for all future correspondence with his friends. The President also suggested he consult with the Secretary of State, Thomas Jefferson, whose knowledge of French wine is surpassed only by me, when I have to find the mental fortitude to make these announcements.

Whilst the President encourages robust public debate, Secretary Hamilton has also been reminded to solve his political disputes with the Republicans through official correspondence, rather than resorting to sledging each other in local restaurants. Secretary Hamilton has agreed to provide Congressman Lee with a full apology, pending proof that he and the Director of the National Parks Service, John Laurens were, in fact engaging in improper sexual activity, and not simply two high-ranking civil servants discussing business. Congressman Lee has also been reminded by the President of the old adage regarding throwing stones in glasshouses.

REPORTER: So, Angelica, can you comment on rumours that Hamilton and Ambassador Lafayette dated in college, and that today’s incident with the Director of the National Parks Service was nothing more than a ploy to make an ex-lover jealous?

SCHUYLER: I can assure you from personal experience that it takes a lot more than that to make Marquis de Lafayette jealous.    

REPORTER: Is the President concerned that this is all simply a distraction from his tax plan, which we know is facing significant opposition in the House, even as it comes to a vote this week? Does the President believe that questions about its constitutionality will be resolved before the crucial vote takes place?

SCHUYLER: If the President was worried about distraction from the key issues, Alexander Hamilton would make an unlikely Treasury Secretary. However, Secretary Hamilton possesses an unsurpassed understanding of both constitutional law and fiscal policy, and therefore the President is supremely confident that the tax plan will pass the House later this week. A series of articles will be published on the Department of Treasury’s website tomorrow, written by none other than Secretary Hamilton himself, should you wish to write a detailed report which focuses on the real issues.

REPORTER: Angelica –

SCHUYLER: No, I cannot give you Alexander Hamilton’s personal email address.

*****

Once all the commotion dies down, the majority of the nation already immersed in news about yet another celebrity divorce, Alexander gets back to work – unfortunately, suggested legislative amendments don’t write themselves. The sun is starting to set by the time he wraps up, remembering his agreement with Lafayette (there simply hadn’t been time to catch up earlier, what with Burr questioning them about every interaction they’d ever had, like he didn’t want to hear the answers), and the building is eerily quiet as he shuts the door and heads out.  

He only makes it a few steps down the hall, when he spots John Laurens out the corner of his eye, and stops short. John’s still in the same suit jacket, but he’s taken his tie off, and Alexander is drawn automatically to the hollow of his throat, and then to the smattering of freckles at his wrists as he takes his hands out of his pockets, and wrings them nervously together in front of him.

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting you,” he says, still rooted on the spot, “but I couldn’t just attack someone with a glass of wine, get chewed out by my boss, and then not come here to tell you it was worth it. Charles Lee is a _dick_.”

There are so many things Alexander could say to that: I’m sorry for dragging you into my scandalous affairs; Charles Lee won’t get re-elected after his blunder with the Security Council resolution on North Korea last year; marry me, please.

Instead, he settles on, “how did they even let you up here?”

“I have my sources,” John replies, grinning. “But if you must know, a certain Hercules Mulligan and I bonded on Twitter over the ‘blacklivesmatter’ hashtag, found out that we both frequent the same bar, and...”

“The rest is history,” Alexander says, even as his own mind is skipping the present, racing ahead to all their possible futures. “I would thank him, but he’s taking my roommate on a date this weekend, who also happens to be the sister of both my secretary _and_ the White House Press Secretary, so that’s an entanglement I’d rather stay out of.”

“No wonder there are so many rumours about you,” John jokes, and if he has any reservations about how this day has panned out, they don’t show as his teeth flash in the dim light.

“Alexander Hamilton’s civil service harem,” he replies, and then adds a ‘ha’ for alliterative affect. “I could get used to this.”

He stops suddenly, realising that’s probably not the best thing to say to a new-found crush who, after less than twelve hours of knowing him, has already been dragged into one of his numerous scandals, so he follows it up with, “do not take that as a confession of anything, even though there’s that frankly terrifying rumour about Jefferson, Madison and myself, following negotiations of the latest free trade agreement.”

Because right, mentioning a rumour that you solved a political issue by fucking two of your worst enemies into submission is so much better, especially when said rumour makes even Alexander Hamilton speechless when he thinks about it for more than a second.

John for his part, doesn’t seem at all fazed however, and Alexander loves him all the more for it, especially since, as he suspects, John gets it; public service is an art form, but changing the world for the better is a messy business, and only the most revolutionary can ever hope to build new worlds out of bureaucratic chaos. For all Alexander’s misgivings about the Department of Interior, John, he thinks, is an incredible kindred spirit.

“I have a confession of my own,” John says, and he steps forward, finally bridging the gap between them, and takes Alexander’s hand in his, running his thumb in circles over Alexander’s knuckles. Alexander forces himself to focus on what John is saying.

“The ecotourism thing?” he says. “I had an intern make most of that up so I had an excuse to spend more than a few minutes meeting with you. I’d heard so much about you – seen you on TV myself, actually. You did this interview after Washington’s win, where you were drunkenly shouting about a more equal redistribution of social security benefits, and -” He pauses, watching Alexander intently. “Luckily I care enough about everyone getting to benefit from the great natural wonders of our country that it actually worked.”

“John?” Alexander says, after a moment that feels like seconds, or maybe hours, Alexander’s not sure, too intently focused on John’s fingers curled against his, the scent of his shampoo now that they’re standing so close, the fact that every damn moment in his life – his constant struggle to overcome his childhood, how hard he’d worked both in and out of college, all seemed to be leading up to this moment.

“Yeah.”

“From what little I learnt about you today, we’re both _way_ too invested in our work, so there’s no way your intern wrote more than 10% of that.”

That’s when John steps forward and kisses him. It takes Alexander by surprise, even as he’s been anticipating it, so he goes slackjawed under John’s mouth for a moment, before bringing his hands up to John’s shoulders and kissing him back, letting his mouth move against John’s in a sloppy not-quite rhythm, like he’s a teenager again. John, for his part, doesn’t seem to mind, especially as he does that _thing_ with Alexander’s bottom lip. Eventually, Aexander pulls back, just a tiny bit, and if he tips his head up he can see the worry in John’s eyes, so he simply points in the direction of his office door, one hand on John’s shoulder to steady himself as he reaches out with his other arm to jam the key in the lock, the two of them tripping over each other in the hall as he kicks the door open with an outstretched foot. John looks over Alexander’s shoulder into his office, and then tips his head back down, his eyelashes grazing Alexander’s check as he captures Alexander’s mouth with his own, finding just the right angle again. They stagger into the room, door swinging loudly shut behind them – Alexander fervently hopes anyone left in the building just thinks he’s throwing a tantrum about the days’ events – and John trips over his feet, planting his hands into Alexander’s chest to keep him upright. They still there, his palms splayed out over Alexander’s ribs, his rapidly beating heart, and then after a moment, John moves his hand across, grabs Alexander’s jacket lapel in his fist, and kisses harder. At some point, they take a few steps backwards, the back of Alexander’s knees banging into his desk.

Alexander is tired, weary of how this day has turned out even if this is a surprisingly good end to it, and for several minutes he just lets John take him, melting into John’s body, into John’s kisses as the warmth of John’s embrace spreads from the pit of his belly out to his shoulders and toes, his whole body a series of a live wires. He can’t explain it – he’s an economist, not a physicist – so he settles for running his hands down John’s sides, across the dip of his back, and hoping he picks up something of Alexander’s desperation through his touch.

Eventually, they pull apart, both looking flushed, and if both of them know this is probably not a sensible idea, that they _really_ need to talk this through, neither of them shows it.

“If I’m going to be accused of misusing my government position, then what’s a little making out on a _technically_ publicly-owned desk, right?”

The smile John gives him in return is so wicked, it’s like he was born to play the part of co-conspirator.

*****

Lafayette (19:12): I would hate you but Eliza and I are binging the Good Wife without you interrupting to comment on how farfetched the cases are

Lafayette (19:13): Alicia florrick is a queen who deserves all the things

Lafayette (19:13): I really hope you are ignoring me because you are ‘getting some’, as you say

*****

**@TJefferson:** glad to hear @adotham has been absolved from yet another scandal, only his 3rd since taking office #sexcetary

 **@adotham:** @Tjefferson you remind me of a snapping turtle. Opportunistic, & with a bark much bigger than your bite

 **@adotham:** check out @Interior’s brilliant fact sheet on freshwater turtles here bit.ly/7ccdh54

*****

And, if Alexander can already hear Angelica’s protests forming in his mind as he presses send, they’re easily forgotten as John grabs at his waist, lining their hips up flush, and kisses him with all the intensity of a raging river; Alexander’s hands scrabble against the edge of the desk, looking for purchase, and he arches up into John’s mouth until he feels wrung out like a cloth, drained and parched and somehow ready for much, much _more._ Now that they’re here, like this, bathed in the dim light of his desk lamp, Alexander takes the opportunity to drink John in, from the scuffed toes of his boots – he still tries to get out in the field as much as possible – up to the smattering of freckles at his neck as Alexander plants kisses along the ridge where it meets his jaw, and then he just stops, smiles against John’s mouth, and lets the whole world go still around him.

It’s not like he hasn’t attracted enough rumours throughout his life, and if word gets around that he’s in love with the Director of the National Parks Service, at least this time it will actually be true.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies if I bungled any of the politics on this one. I do have experience with the public service - it just so happens to be the *Australian* public service. 
> 
> And yes, the title is a vague rip-off of "Ben Wyatt: Human Disaster". Apparently overly intense public servants are a weakness of mine.


End file.
